The Love of the Nightingale by Timberlake Wertenbaker
Diorama Arts Centre, London, July 2002
Directed by Sarah Dickenson

Reviewed by Michael Millar

Why is it that one can sit down for hours on end, and instead of leaving refreshed, feel the need to find a comfy chair to get over the experience? This riddle occupied me as I struggled to the Diorama Theatre having recently arrived from Scotland courtesy of Great North Eastern Railways. This tale of confused woe is pertinent for the sole reason that KDC were really going to have to pull off a coup to impress me and my train-lag.

Set to a minimalist theme with a black theatre and pallets constituting a stage, the scene was set for Timberlake Wertenbaker’s tale of mythological love, death and bacchanalian goings-on. The play tells the story of sisters Philomele and Procne who are daughters of the King of Athens and who both fall foul of Tereus, the King of Thrace, who has an appetite for women similar to a Tory politician. Having married Procne, Tereus then takes a liking to Philomele. She does not reciprocate and instead decides to announce Tereus’ failings to his people. Big mistake. Wertenbaker’s reworking of Ovid’s Philomele myth examines how the inability to speak, to be heard or understood ultimately leads to pain, violence, regret and isolation.

Procne was played by Lucy Clarke. The character espouses the maxim "Never say you’re happy, it angers the Gods." Well I’m afraid I’ll have to take Zeus’ lightning bolts like a man as I thought this was a great performance. She tempered joy with longing and was lost in her isolation in a new and alien culture as Procne was brought to Thrace. It was this range of emotions, and then the breaking down of each subsequent feeling which created a great depth of character.

Jo Briley accepted the challenge of Philomele, one of the most emotionally demanding parts I’ve ever seen. Philomele soars as a naive, expectant sister and then plummets into the depths of despair as her world unravels. Her opening discussion about sleeping with suitors was lively and joyous enough to waken even the most jaded traveller. Highlights of her performance included her joy and excitement as she sailed to meet her sister and the tenderness she showed for Stephen Palmer’s Captain. Her pain at the news of her sister’s death was palpable as was the onset of loneliness and solitude. Her rape at the hands of Tereus was very powerful indeed.

My one caveat was that Philomele’s extreme emotions seemed to almost always be characterised by screaming. The quiet sobbing during the rape showed that this was not necessary all the time. Sometimes the wise words of Ronan Keating might be observed: "you say it best when you say nothing at all." However the wisdom of one little Irishman should not distract us from what was an excellent performance.

Darren Chancey’s Tereus was a perfect example of the Keating school of acting. The power of his Thracian King came from subtly expressed emotions, which seethed under a demure surface. When he chose to erupt the scene was all the more powerful for the sudden boost of energy. Philomele says that ÔTereus has a nervous soul’ Chancey captured this with his natural authority over his cohorts, which turned to anger and passionate outbursts as he encountered insubordination. All this was achieved despite Tereus, in his more serious moments, taking on a deep and all-knowing tone usually reserved for Jedi Masters.

Stephen Palmer cut a dashing figure as the Captain of Tereus’ ship; torn between his duty and his love of Philomele. In true homage to the phrase Ôthere are no small parts, only small players’, he took the part and made it his own. Cathy Burnell took this advice on board with her portrayal of Tereus’ son Itys. Her childish high-spirits turned to anger with well-timed ease as she lived Itys’ assertion: "I don’t like peace, I like war!" This appraisal also equally applies to Tracey Pocock’s Niobe. She was the foil to Philomele’s emotion as the world weary maid who voiced realism over reason. Her speech about the practicalities of life during Philomele’s rape created an ensemble which was the high part of the play for me.

This play would have been a shadow of itself without the input of the female and male choruses. The ladies showed their talents as they moved from actors, to courtiers and on to narrators. One declares "We don’t know how to act." I have to disagree. The male side of things was just as impressive as they became soldiers, actors and narrators themselves. They asserted: "We said nothing it was better that way." The more the merrier I say, as they juxtaposed comedy and tragedy to great effect. Through their efforts the play sailed the heights and plumbed the depths of emotion, thus drawing the audience in Wertenbaker’s world of joy, confusion, pain and ingnorance.

Aiding the actors in their cause were an able bodied stage management team who used sound and light to emphasise the moods on stage. Jen Ord’s musical talents were aired as were the singing voices of the chorus, which were subtle and effective. This combination allowed the actors to move effortlessly from murder-blighted ship journey to the heady festival of Bacchus. Sarah Dickenson’s direction facilitated fluidity and a great use of a space largely unencumbered by props. Her direction came to the fore when the entire ensemble filled the stage, yet still moved and interacted with ease.

So there you have it. Even a tired and rather embittered traveller was thoroughly convinced by a great performance. Baring in mind I fully intended to use the auditorium as a makeshift bedroom, this is praise indeed.